What Love Really Means
by Go Away With The Sun
Summary: When Sherlock finds that John may have feelings for his older brother all hell breaks lose. For a short amount of time anyways, Desperate to try and delete the emotions he suddenly felt for John, didn't work he is left with only one other option. To give into them


What Love Really Means  
Chapter 1- Torn

**I do not own anything nor do I gain anything from this story. Thank you, please read and review it would mean a lot to me**

Sherlock was sitting on his chair, well really the couch, hair a mess, hands under his chin deep in thought. John had been spending more and more time at Bart's, or so he said, but when Sherlock had called John's mobile it had gone straight to voice mail, so he went to St. Bart's to see if John was there. When he wasn't Sherlock got a little worried for his friend so now here he sat on the couch thinking of places John would go. 

Though all the places John could have been Sherlock had not quested that John had been at his older brother MyCroft's manor, enjoying himself a little too much. When John returned he smelled faintly of wine, and his hair and clothes were a bit messed up, He looked almost like he had been mugged.

John stumbled quietly into the flat and flopped into the arm chair. 

This is what made Sherlock stand up taking in every inch of his friend. "Wrinkled shirt; looks like you were mugged, but clearly with that smirk on your face it says differently, you smell slightly of my brother and wine." Sherlock's eyes got wider. "Messy hair, obviously you have been snogging." 

His statement caused John to smirk. "Snogging… Snogging is fun. Fun is fun. Speaking of fun, did you know, there are multiple sensual pressure points?" John yet again was being very random. Like he always was when he had a bit too much to drink. 

"John, sit back down. Of course I know there are multiple sensual pressure points. I'm Sherlock fricken Holmes, I know everything and I know you have drunk too much, and have spent some time with my brother. Now if you have been intimate or not… I wouldn't be able to say but giving your eye dilation I would be willing to bet yes." 

John giggles softly, looking at him. "It was kind of hot." He whispered. "I only had a few glasses; I'm not drunk off my arse… I'm just a little tipsy." 

"I don't want to know what you and my brother are doing." Sherlock hisses but the image was already imprinted into his brain. But he felt a twinge of something in his chest. What was that? He didn't know... jealousy? He couldn't place it, because he had never felt it before." 

John giggled again. "Sherly's jelly… Speaking of jelly… Do we have jam? I could use some… I am famished." Course he was… How could he not be? 

"I'm not jealous." Sherlock spat. "And no John, does it look like I care if we have any jam? NO I don't. I am going to my room while you take your alcohol ** to your own bed and not back to my brother." Sherlock storms off to his room with his violin. 

"Go ahead. Play your violin. Maybe you can wake the dead with your jealousy-induced anger. It's not my fault I'm a bloody sex god!" John laughed. "Oh, and your brother has a six-pack." 

Sherlock covers his ears. "LaLaLaLa!" He yells as he slams his door with a bang, the picture of him and John on the shooting wall fell and broke, splitting the picture in half. Good reddens he thought to himself. . 

John sighed, finding his way to his guitar, and played. "Take all of your wasted honour. Ev'ry little past frustration... Take all of your so called problems. Better put 'em in quotations." He sang out, trying to drown himself in the music. He had no clue why, but it helped. "Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say. Say what you need to say." He swayed, more drunk off the music than alcohol. 

Sherlock listened closely, before picking up his violin and played a harmony only he could hear, or he thought of it that way. It went up and down and sounded angry, he started to play his own song. It was completely different, dead sounding, hurt, and anger. You could feel the emotions. 

John continued to play, trying to drown Sherlock out. He couldn't take hearing the pain in what he was playing. Why was Sherlock so jealous? John didn't understand. He was with his brother. Someone who understood him, so why was Sherlock jealous? 

Sherlock didn't understand his emotions most of the time and that scared him, why he tried to play like John didn't mean anything to him but a friend. And it had started that way, no emotions between them just friendship. And he had thought of it that way, until MyCroft came in and took what was his. 

John had no clue what had happened to cause all of this. After all that time, claiming he wasn't gay. He never meant to grow close to MyCroft. It had, in all honesty, started a month after the fall… He would go to MyCroft, hoping to fill that gaping hole only his friend could fill. Then Sherlock had shown his face again, and it had gone on like this for a year. MyCroft wasn't even an Ideal partner, he was always busy but he always made time for John. John could talk to the elder Holmes. He could FEEL around him. He wasn't one for emotions, MyCroft, but he was a phenomenal listener. And surprisingly understanding… That's what shocked John. MyCroft spoke up about things, figured them out, while his brother shut himself up and played violin for hours. Sherlock was his best friend, John told himself. Nothing more, nothing less… 

Sherlock eventually stopped playing his violin, setting it down on his bed and looked out the window. "Oh John, if you only knew." Sherlock whispers as he touched the window before closing his eyes, shutting his emotions out, or tried to anyways. It was hard, had he… dare he say it, become more emotional after his fall? He could not believe that, but it seemed he had. "I can't do this thing, not while you're with him. He uses people." Sherlock scowls at the window with the thought of his dear brother being with HIS best friend. The other man, the only one who he had ever let close… It was he who had given Sherlock a notion of hope. 

John continued playing, but he had changed the song, playing Light On by David Cook. He felt sick, like he could easily have died then and there. He was torn, torn in two. In one place, there was MyCroft. And he had already established those pro's. On the other, there was Sherlock. So completely torn in half, Sherlock his best friend, or MyCroft his best friend's older brother? 

Sherlock heard the song and laid his head gently against the window. It was cool to the touch, exactly how he felt right now. Cool and confused. The window was a comfort to something he could never have. 

John felt himself slink desolately into his bedroom, where he laid upon his bed, unable to sleep from all the dreams that he had in his mind. That brain would not shut off. He wondered to himself if this was what Sherlock went through all the time. 

Sherlock, who was still in his own room walked back over to his bed and picked up his violin once more playing his lament, his sorrow… He had lost his John, the only constant in his life. He knew it had happened when he had jumped. How could he have expected John to not confide in MyCroft. He was stupid... so stupid. And it showed in the way his violin was being played. 

John lay in his bed, his own thoughts wandering. How could he be such an Idiot? He could tell Sherlock actually loved him… In some form, and he had selfishly fallen for his brother. So stupid he was that even if Sherlock was playing his own song it seemed to fit with John's mood. 

Sherlock's violin playing stopped around five as the blue eyes man with the raven hair made his way down stairs, and then the gun shots started up once more. He wasn't one to self-harm. Oh no, he would just make life miserable for everyone else around him. Eventually the gun shots stopped and he sulked on the couch holding a picture of John and him in one of those rare moments when he smiled. He had been happy, only weeks before his fall. Now, now he was miserable with all these emotions and it was weighing him down. 

John on the other hand, was feeling absolutely little to nothing. He couldn't anymore, he felt useless and he needed help though he refused to talk to his councilor again.

And he couldn't talk to MyCroft about it. Or Sherlock, he wondered silently if maybe Molly would be able to help him out. 

But when John had not come down by eight… Sherlock started to get a little worried and made his way to John's room. He knocked lightly on the door "John, you okay?" His voice came out soft, something that hardly happened. 

John opens the door reluctantly, what short hair he had was a mess; he wore a navy robe with tan sweats and a gray t-shirt. "I'm fine." He said flatly, even though he looked like hell. 

"No, you're not; you hardly ever speak to me like that. And when you do, it's because I have done something wrong." Sherlock says in a bored tone, but care still shown in his eyes. He couldn't hide his emotions even if he wanted to. 

John's emotions were buried deep however and he sighed. "I promise I'm alright Sherlock, I am just tired, I have yet to sleep." 

"You always sleep, lest something or someone is on your mind. I know you John, nothing is alright and it is my fault." Sherlock says with a frown 

"It's not your fault Sherlock. It's my own, now if you don't mind, I would like to go down stairs and fix myself a cup of coffee." John looked up at his best friend with a half-hearted smile. 

And Sherlock bit back his tongue and refused to say that John didn't drink coffee. "My Violin playing kept you up, and then shooting at the wall. It kept you up as well, because you are not use to them anymore. If I had not jumped things would have been different, and I know we have talked about it multiple times but John, I had to jump, for you, for Lestrade, and for Mrs. Hudson. And then, I was a fool to think that when I came back, we could actually have a chance and I was stupid to think that nothing was going on with you and MyCroft. If you have a case or need me, text me, I'm going out. I just wanted to tell you that… and… This." Sherlock grabs John's shirt, and pulls him close before kissing him softly. 

John's eyes widened, but he didn't pull away, not at all, in fact, he kissed back, passionately. Shocked by the power Sherlock had over what little emotions he had anymore. "Sherlock…" He breathed in when they let go. 

"If nothing else, I wanted to just see what it was like to kiss someone you truly care about. I know you're with my brother, I know it… but… I just wanted to see what he had, and what I couldn't have." Sherlock breathed out, his mind wandering and now would not shut off for days as he analyzed every bit of the kiss.  
John breathed in his scent, and grinned, "Dear god, Sherlock Holmes." Hi whispered, then suddenly he was kissing him again. 

Sherlock let out a gasp and kissed back, he had not planned for the second kiss to happen but he was glad for it. He could get more data from it, and figure out exactly how John felt for him.  
John found himself pressing the taller man up against the wall, kissing him forcefully, and passionately. "God...' he breathed against the kiss. 

Sherlock struggled to breath, breaking the kiss slowly so he could breath, his eyes turned down so he could look at John. "I am not God; however I like to think you think I am." Sherlock smiles goofy, high off the kiss "oh John.. You are my drug, and I can't let you go now." 

John Smiled his typical, photogenic **er smile. "You're the closest thing to God on earth, Sherlock. But this is where I am torn. You see, your brother loves me, and I do care for him… But, for God's sake… why must you be so irresistible?"  
Sherlock put a finger over John's lips to silence him. "Sh, don't think about MyCroft, he isn't here, it's just you and I right now, as it should be. This is our flat, not his and yours." Sherlock whispers dangerously low. "When we are in this flat… Us… I don't want you to see my brother but I can't stop you from seeing him. Even If it does hurt me…" 

John curls into Sherlock, suddenly vulnerable. "Sherlock…" He whispers, but smiles. "Now, people will talk." 

"Let them talk. They are ordinary people, and stupid, they need something to talk about. The Freak and the Doctor..." Sherlock grins. 

John grins back. "The Genius and the Soldier…"


End file.
